


Draco Malfoy and the Return to Hogwarts

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Comedy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Time Travel, but not for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-12-07 03:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Did Draco take Nott's offer to go back in time?Yes.To manipulate the past to his advantage?Need you even ask?Is it going the way he thought it would?Ah, no...Draco relives all seven years of Hogwarts. It's not pretty.





	1. The Eccentric Time-Traveler

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paradox](https://archiveofourown.org/works/753415) by [kerfuffling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerfuffling/pseuds/kerfuffling). 
  * Inspired by [Seventh Horcrux](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/117172) by Emerald Ashes. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes back in time.

Last night must have been quite the bender; Draco didn’t even know where he was. He peered around the rather garish bedroom from the safety of his covers. It looked as though no one else was there, plus he had all his clothes on which, seeing as Draco would never have a go at someone who thought that cutlery made for a sufficient wall decoration, was for the best.

Draco suddenly became conscious of the fact that he was queasy, and subsequently, ran to the ensuite bathroom to expel the contents of last night’s foray. He slouched over the sink to wash his mouth when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His bottom lip and left eye were bruised, and he had a bandage on his nose.

 _Who could it have been this time? Ex Death Eaters? Potter supporters? Potter himself?_ It seemed that breathing was the only qualification needed to spite Draco. He went about prodding his bruises and proceeded to delicately remove the bandage from his nose, revealing a rather nasty cut.

That’s when he noticed, a top the bathroom counter, a green potion. Draco carefully inspected the bottle; he didn’t trust it. Instead, he opted to read the note next to the suspicious substance.

 

 

> _Dear Draco,_
> 
> _Drink the potion, it’s not poison. When you’re ready, come down for breakfast._
> 
> _-Theodore_

 

He was at Nott’s house? He must be dreaming; either that or he’s gone mad since he hasn’t spoken to him since the end of fifth year when Nott left Hogwarts.

What could it all mean? Was Nott the one who beat him in his drunken stupor, and, in a moment of pity, took him back to his house? Or, did Draco throw himself at Nott, who accepted Draco’s advances, obviously, but then things got a little freaky and Draco passed out? Or, the most plausible scenario, he wasn’t at Nott’s house at all! It was just an elaborate ruse to lower his guard so someone could pull a fast one on him… But, then why not have at him when he was stupid drunk?

All this thinking had Draco’s head throbbing; the unidentified potion grew more alluring by the minute. Well, if Draco was going to die; it might as well be in a stranger’s bathroom.

He proceeded to uncork the bottle. No particular odor hit his nose, and the consistency was slightly thick: Wiggenweld. He swallowed the entirety of the potion in one go. His bruises healed, and his cut haphazardly followed suit. He was also alleviated of his haziness. If his unknown benefactor was Nott, at least he knew how to cure a hangover.

Draco went back into the bedroom, finding his shoes next to the bed, his cloak draped in a chair, and his wand on the nightstand. Everything was just bizarre: the potion, the note, the unnecessary underlying kindness. Could Nott really be the one who did all this? For someone he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years? It seemed impossible. And that was why he wouldn’t stick around to find out who the real mastermind was.

Gathering his things and doing a once over in the mirror, Draco prepared himself to apparate. Inhaling through his nose, he pictured the place he’d like to go to.

 _Is that bacon?_ His stomach growled. _Well, I suppose meeting this mastermind could be potentially entertaining, and it would be rude to suddenly leave without giving my thanks._

Draco stuck his head out the door and peered into the hallway, _the coast’s clear_. Stepping outside his room, he was simultaneously complimented and insulted by the many familial portraits lining the walls; he was definitely in a pureblood’s house. Maybe it was Nott after all.

Eager to leave the portraits to chat amongst themselves, he careened down the stairs following the scent of bacon.

“Oh Draco!” came a voice way too cheery for this situation. “You finally decided to show yourself.” It really was Nott.

“Yes, well, if I hadn’t been taken to a certain someone’s house then I wouldn’t need to ‘show’ myself to anyone.”

“You never change, do you?”

Draco paused, glancing at the array of delectable food laid out on the table before him.

“You know, it’s not just for looking at,” smirked Nott. Draco glared at him. “Take a seat, dig in.” Nott sat down and started to fill his plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“You know, it’s rude for a host to sit before his guest.”

“Draco, just sit down and eat some food.” Draco stood with a haughty disdain until he eventually succumbed to his hunger. “I knew you’d come around.”

“Ugh, you better not make me regret this, Nott.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, and you can call me Theo.”

Draco almost choked on his precious bacon, “Excuse me?”

“I know we haven’t seen each other in quite a while, but we were friends at Hogwarts.”

Draco was momentarily shocked, “We didn’t fuck, did we?”

Nott looked just as confused as Draco, “No, why would you think that?”

Draco was indignant, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was that note you left me or that you tucked me into bed, or even, I might be reaching here, the pile of breakfast food that couldn’t possibly be eaten on your lonesome, and the fact that you just told me to call you by your first name despite the fact that we haven’t seen each other in years.”

Nott calmly watched Draco’s tirade, and how Draco took another slice of bacon when he was done. “Well, say something,” Draco sneered.

“Draco, I’m married,” Draco looked like he was about to protest to such an affront, “And that’s not the issue here. What do you remember from last night?”

It was clearly a diversion from Draco’s main question, but he hadn’t really thought about it, too busy focusing on matters of more significance. “I went to the Leaky Cauldron to get wasted, and some guy was yelling at me, and I don’t really remember anything after that…”

“You were in an ally when I found you, beaten pretty badly from what I could tell, and so I—”

“Why were you in an ally?”

“Because I saw a person lying on the ground?”

“That doesn’t seem like you, to be…helpful. What seedy business dealing did you have going on?”

“Draco, have you ever known me to be in any shady ‘dealings’?”

“Well, you never really talked much at school!” He exclaimed, bacon in hand.

“Can I get back to my story now?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Be it me to interrupt the great Nott.”

“It’s Theo.” Draco groaned. “Anyway, I realized that it was you in the ally, and since there was no one with you, and you were unconscious, I thought it’d be fine to take you to my place.”

“Nott, what do you really want?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“If your story’s true, you could have alerted my parents, I’m sure they’d be delighted to talk to you—”

“It was too late at night, I didn’t want to impose.”

“Or sent me to a hotel room under my name, or to St. Mungo’s, but what you didn’t have to do is take me back to your house," Draco hissed.

“Is it so hard to believe that I care about an old friend?" Nott sickeningly batted his eyelashes.

Draco became pensive, “I don’t know. But what I do know is that you’re plotting!”

“Well, I was going to offer you something.”

“Ah-ha, I knew it!” Draco accusingly pointed his bacon at Nott , "Quid pro quo," and then continued to be smug.

Nott sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, “It was going to be free, but I forgot what a pain you are.”

“I seriously doubt that anything you offer could possibly be of interest to me.”

“What about a second chance?” Nott gazed at him with quasi-hope.

“You mean redemption,” Draco deadpanned, putting down his bacon. “I’ve done some unforgiveable things, Theo; things that I can’t forgive myself for. So, tell me, what good is the forgiveness of others?”

Theo looked saddened, “I’m terribly sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault," Draco humbly chewed on some bacon.

“But I feel like it is, I could have stopped you.”

“Really, Theo? You have as bad a martyr complex as Potter, and all of those…things, they were my choices. I have to live with the fact that I made the wrong ones.”

“You don’t understand Draco, I went back in time.”

“You mean like a Time Turner?”

“Yes and no.”

“Okay, and? It’s not like you could have done much."

“I relived seven years of my life.”

Draco was silent, what more could he say to that? It defied all known laws of magic and sounded utterly bovine.

“I know, it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I—"

“It’s impossible," Draco licked his salty fingers.

“But it’s not,” Theo extracted a small book from his pocket. “Read it.”

Draco took the book into his hand, “Theo, I don’t want your diary.”

“It’s not my diary, it’s more like a chronology of events to come.”

Draco started to flip through the book.

 

 

> _June 24 th, 1995- Voldemort comes back_
> 
> _June 18 th, 1996- Department of Mysteries, father arrested_
> 
> _June 30 th, 1997- Dumbledore killed by professor Snape_

 

“All of this already happened,” Draco gave Theo an irritated grimace, “except that your dad wasn’t even at the department that night.”

“Flip to the back page.”

 

 

> _June 5 th, 2001- Draco Malfoy dies in ally by Leaky Cauldron_

 

“Do you think this is funny?!” Draco glowers at Theo, half hoping he didn’t have an answer.

“Draco, I haven’t been back to England in years; I came back to make sure you didn’t die.”

“How very kind of you,” he stood up. “Well, Nott, as much as this has been a pleasure, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Wait!” Theo grabbed his arm, “I’m trying to help you here!”

“By being my savior? I give you my full gratitude, Nott,” Draco spit.

“Draco, please, just hear me out,” Theo looked haggard.

Well, it’s not as if he had much else to do today. Draco tapped his foot, “You have five minutes.”

Theo gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” Draco sighed and sat back down to his plate of bacon.

“It’s a little convoluted, so stop me if you’re confused.” Theo looked at Draco who gave him a grudging nod. “Okay, where to start? Oh! So that part you read where my father was arrested, that was in my original timeline.”

“Original timeline?”

“Yes, in the original timeline, my father rejoined the Death-Eaters, and was arrested at the Department of Mysteries. I was a Death-Eater too, and well, in this timeline as you know, I’m not.”

“Is that why you went back? To stop your father from being arrested and yourself from becoming a Death-Eater?” Draco supposed he could understand that logic if he was going to play Theo's game.

“That and other reasons,” Theo fondly smiled at his wedding band.

“Wait, if this is all true, hypothetically speaking, aren’t you,” Draco did some inner calculations, “…twenty-eight years old?”

“Both yes and no.” Draco loudly exhaled in an obnoxious fashion. “But you’re getting ahead of me here.” Draco gave a wave of his hand that said continue, please. “Resuming my story, in the original timeline, my other self came across a rare magical artifact.”

“Uh-huh.” Draco put his feet on the table.

“And it sent me back in time seven years.”

“Yeah," draco lulled his head back.

“Can you stop doing that?”

Draco inspected his nails, “Sure.”

Theo sighed, “And it put the me from the original timeline into the me of this timeline.”

Draco reflected, “So, you’re a twenty-eight-year-old with the body of a twenty-one-year-old.”

“Close, but we haven’t gotten there yet.” Draco couldn’t believe that he was falling for Theo’s shite. “When I first got there, I noticed that whenever I made a small change in this timeline that diverged from the original timeline, I would forget what happened in the original timeline. That’s why I made this book,” he patted the small book that had been left on the table, “So that I wouldn’t forget what happened.”

“Wait, is that why you beat me as top student fourth and fifth year? Because you were really twenty-eight-years-old the whole time?” Draco was both pleasantly suprised by Theo's ingenuity and righteously indignant of this gross perversion of education.

“You and Granger, and yes, but I was twenty-one when I went back in time.”

“Wait, and because you changed things from your first life, you forgot them? So, it’s like you really are twenty-one again?!”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“…”

“…”

“Why did you save me if you knew I was going to die?”

“If you were important enough for me to put you in the book, then you're important enough to be saved.”

“I’m glad that the majority of your life has been dictated by a book.” Theo shrugged. “Why, exactly, did you tell me all of this?”

“Well, you were going to die today, and you seemed like the type who’d take up my offer.”

“You want me to go back in time?” Draco glumly surmised.

“Only if you want too," Theo fidgeted a bit, and then started tapping the pad of his fingers together.

Did Draco have a reason to say no? It was the deal of a lifetime from what Theo was saying, and it’s not like he was particularly attached to anything right now. Who knows, if he goes back to change his past, he’d probably be able to beat Granger for first place and Potter in all of those Quidditch matches. It was too good to pass up.

“I’ll do it.”

Theo was genuinely surprised, “That’s was quick.”

“Though I still have a lot of questions.”

“Naturally.”

“Since you went back in time, why didn’t you try to stop the Second Wizarding War?”

“I knew that Potter and his side would tie everything up in a neat bow, I just wanted to save those close to me, then get out of dodge.”

“Then why not save me?”

“As much as it hurts to say Draco, I knew that you’d be okay in the end.”

“I wasn’t fine sixth year!” Draco threw up his hands.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t save everyone! I didn’t know what was going to happen because I diverged so much from my original time. You-Know-Who could have killed my father for not joining him; he could have killed me, my family, and all of my loved ones.”

At least Theo looked descently dejected, “Hmm…Fine, next question,” he pondered for a bit, “What happened to the you from the original timeline?”

“I don’t know. I could have died, disappeared, been entirely erased from history, or gone on living in that timeline, never knowing that my conscience split into two exact copies. That timeline might not exist anymore. Time travel is a finnicky thing.”

“Sounds…terrifying, destroying entire timelines, and if I do the same, then you’ll disappear in this timeline," Draco shuddered.

“It’s plausible, but I believe that there are an infinite number of timelines going on at any given moment with every infinite possibility taking place simultaneously and splitting into more timelines. Who knows how many times we’ve had this conversation before and all the outcomes that followed? There may even be a Draco in another timeline who’s rewriting his past in this very moment.”

“What, exactly, is it that you do for a living?”

“I work as a researcher on time anomalies and other associated time issues for the International Wizarding Research Organization.”

“You sure do like to use the word ‘time’ a lot.”

“It’s a part of the job.”

“What about the you in the timeline I create?”

“What about him?”

“Well, don’t you care about what happens to him?”

“Not particularly. It’s your timeline, Draco. You can do whatever you want with him. Just know that you can’t fix everything, and you can’t save everyone. That’s a burden I had to accept because, the thing is Draco, we grew up in a dark time, and it could only ever end in two ways.”

That was a lot to take in. It seemed like too much, like you had to tread a careful line so that you didn’t mess everything up. One wrong move and the entirety of Wizarding Britain would be under the thumb of You-Know-Who.

“Now, I presume that you fully intend on going through with this whole ordeal,” Nott produced a silver Time Turner with a metallic red liquid inside, “So I will proceed with informing you on The Time-Traveler’s Guide to Not Fucking Up the Space-Time Continuum By Theodore Nott.”

“Sounds formal,” Draco said as Theo baited him by holding the Time Turner just above his outstretched palm.

“Rule one: It’s probably a bad idea to mention that you’re a time traveler from the future because they will use you as a tool of mass destruction, or subject you to terrifying experiments.”

“I’m quacking in my boots.”

“As you should. Rule two: Write stuff down that you remember from the ‘future’ so that you can use it to your advantage, and make sure your future journal is protected at all costs, no one can ever see it, lest they use it for their own nefarious purposes.”

“Be paranoid, got it.”

“And Rule three: Rule one & two can be null and void if prevailing circumstances force you to break the Time-Traveler's code of honor.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, say you’re in a situation like this one, then you can tell people you’re a time-traveler. Or just whoever you trust enough because they start growing suspicious of the fact that you somehow have knowledge of events prior to their happening when you have no logical explanation for why you knew it was going to happen in the first place.”

“Personal problem?”

“Yeah, it sometimes happens. Have you thought of when you want to go back to? Because this thing goes by increments of one year.”

“Huh…I suppose I’ll have to go back to first year because I’m pretty sure Father came in contact with the incorporeal You-Know-Who at the end of first year.”

“A decade is a lot? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Ready?” Theo placed the Time Turner over Draco’s neck.

“What! Now?”

“Draco, what are you waiting for? You could go back now or in three days; it won’t make a difference.”

“But I didn’t think I’d have to do this now! I haven't said my farewells.”

“You’ll see them again, you big cry-baby,” Theo took the Turner, placing it around Draco's neck, and began to spin.

One… Two… A light breeze wafted in Draco’s face.

“Wait, I should study this timeline so I’m better prepared.”

“Draco, you're prepared as you’ll ever be”

Five…Six… A vortex of wind started to surround Draco, an ominous tiding.

“You’re just a prick, and I hate you," Draco helplessly watched Theo's deft fingers.

“I’m flattered.”

Eight…Nine… The wind was turning violent, throwing napkins and papers alike into disarray.

“Wait! I don’t want to go back. Stop! Just stop!” Draco latched onto Theo’s arms, panic filled his eyes and shook his every bone.

“Have a nice trip Draco!”

Ten… The house was shaking with the force of the wind. The lights flickered off and…

Poof

There was an explosion of glittering red dust, and then Draco was gone. Also, the lights came back on.

“So that’s what happens… This is going to take a while to clean-up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too awful.  
> Also, please don't hunt me down, supreme leader J.K. Rowling. I will gladly give you my brother as a sacrifice, but whatever you do with him, do not give him a guitar.
> 
> Peace.


	2. The Birthday Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his birthday.

Draco awoke with a slight headache. _Ugh…not again_ , he thought. _What was it this time?_ He gleaned his surroundings through the hazy light of dawn. There was dark wooden paneling, sheer bed curtains, a feather-stuffed comforter, and a green satin bed throw. He was in his bedroom at the Manor. Why was that so wrong? Was he expecting something else?

 _NOTT!_ It all came back to him: the hangover, the Time Turner, the delicious bacon.

Draco angrily catapulted out of bed and stomped off to the nearest urn of Floo Powder. _Nott is a dead man_ , he chanted as his unofficial motto. _I am going to shove my wand so far down that bastard’s throat that he won’t be able to chatter on about multiple timelines ever again_. He agitatedly careened around a corner almost toppling a House-Elf in the wake of his rage. _In fact, I’ll make it so that he can only use his right arm, the only bloody body part he’ll need when I make him my bacon servant._ Draco was holding a handful of Floo Powder, about to throw it into the grand room’s fireplace.

“And where do you think you’re going this early in the morning, young man?” came a bemused feminine voice.

Draco didn’t have time to see who it was, so he instead opted to furiously spit, “I’m getting my due compensation”, while he pondered as to the current whereabouts of Nott.

 “What happened, Dragon?” asked the voice.

 _Dragon?_ Now that was something he hadn’t heard since he was a child. Draco placed his handful of powder back in the urn and wiped the rest on his satin black pajama bottoms. His heart was pounding in his ears. His parents used to call him that until Draco stopped them because Nott had heard it once, ONCE! And that was all it took for it to become a permanent fixture on Nott’s _List of Things to Blackmail Draco Malfoy With If the Need Ever Arises_. Nott is such an arse. And he’s terrible at naming things.

“Oh Dragon, You just ruined your new sleep clothes! Don’t worry, there’s nothing like a little magic to fix it,” said the woman that Draco now realized was his mother.

As she took out her wand to clean his pajamas, Draco noticed how young she was. She didn’t yet have the wrinkles of age and distress creased into her visage. Her hair was less frizzled and greyed. She looked rather dapper, and on the whole, entirely more exuberant than she did just the day before.

Draco also noticed how short he was.

His mother towered over him, and his hands, they were so tiny. Draco stood shock-still.

“Draco, what’s going on with you?” said his mother worriedly as she brushed his hair while kneeling in front of him. “Is this about that person from before? What did they do to you to make you so upset?”

Draco couldn’t speak. It was all too unreal. It couldn’t be, could it?

He bolted past his concerned mother to the nearest mirror, which wasn’t hard to find considering that he was in Malfoy Manor, and glanced at his face.

He was a boy. He was himself as a boy. He was his younger boy-self.

He screamed.

“Dragon, what is going on with you!?” cried his mother who rushed to hold him in her arms. “If this is about your birthday party, then we can cancel it! You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to”, she attempted to reassure him.

Draco felt tears welling up in the back of his eyes. Panic exploded in his throat and reverberated throughout his body. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To go back? To relive an entire decade of his life?

A decade was a long time. He had to confirm it though, to see if it was true.

“How old am I, mother?”

His mother was justifiably perplexed about the unfolding circumstances. “It’s your eleventh birthday today, Dragon. You wouldn’t stop talking about it yesterday.”

 _It’s June 5 th, 1991, then._ Draco internally established.

“Sorry, I’m just surprised that I’m so old, is all,” Draco chuckled forlornly.

His mother was still taught with worry, but she relinquished her hold on him and gave him a warm smile. “Your special birthday breakfast is waiting for you in the dining room alongside your father.” She stood up as to lead the way.

“Draco,” she paused to look back at him, “You know that you can tell me or your father if there is something wrong, right?”

“I know”, Draco glumly replied, “I know.” He trailed after her.

—

What ensued was a delectable bacon-filled breakfast followed by an onslaught of introductions and reacquaintances with what seemed to be the entirety of British pureblood wizarding society, a terribly awkward ballroom dance with all the eligible witches his age (including an eager Pansy Parkinson), and the mandatory gift opening ceremony (with presents ranging from a hideous sweater for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team to an acceptable beginner's potion kit from Severus Snape). Did Draco mention how unnerving it was to see people who were supposed to be dead? Well, Goyle tried to bite a leg off of one of the albino peacocks, and Nott just stood there with a dumb smirk on his troll face. Once a git, always a git as they say.

“That was quite an eventful birthday,” whispered his mother as she was giving her thanks and good-byes to the last guests.

“It was very conducive for good match-making,” nodded his father as a House-Elf closed the door on the starry night sky.

“The Parkinson girl seemed pleased with our handsome Dragon,” she fondly smiled at her son.

Draco gagged. He had spent the whole day pretending to be an eleven-year-old, suffering under the leering gaze of Pansy and the pressure of not blurting out the ‘outcomes’ of a few choice persons. Enough was enough though, and if Draco was going to change his future, then he had to start somewhere.

“Mother, Father…we need to talk,” Draco announced in a shaky tone. He was about to come-out to his parents for the second time. “There are some things that we need to set straight.” Draco briefly contemplated the irony of that statement.

His parents glanced at one another. “What is it, Dragon?” came the soft reply of his mother. His ‘morning ordeal’, as he is now dubbing it, had been completely forgotten during the haste to prepare for his birthday, but it looks like that worry began to coil itself around his mother again. His father passively raised an eyebrow in mild intrigue.

“We should be seated, I think,” he peered at the comfy leather couches in the parlor. If it happened like the last time, then his father would faint from the shock. It was unspoken that that particular instance never be brought up as Malfoys never ‘faint’.

“I’ll call for some tea,” drawled his father as he ordered about a rather jittery House-Elf who quickly re-apparated with tray in hand.

Draco took his seat across from his parents and wondered why, as to all things that he could say, that this was the one he chose to say first.

“Well Dragon, we are seated and have tea, so what has you all befuddled?” came his mother.

“Hmm…how do I put this delicately?” he started.

“Is it about your gifts?” asked his mother, “We can buy you new ones if you don’t like them. Just don’t tell anyone, it’s improper etiquette.” His parents really did spoil him when he was younger.

“I don’t think that’s what this is about, Narcissa,” his father confidently assured her, “Although I do have another gift for you, Dragon.” His father gazed off in the distance with a slightly disturbed half grin; he was never particularly good at smiling.

“No, no—you have it all wrong; my presents were great. It’s about the ‘match-making’ stuff,” Draco huffed.

“Well, you’re still young,” his mother tapped her chin, “But I’m afraid that your father and I won’t be able to hold off all those witches when you get older.” She pinched his cheek from across the small distance between the couches.

He batted her hand away, “That’s exactly the problem.” He crossed his arms over his small chest.

“That you’ll grow into a handsome young man?” cheekily replied his mother.

“No!” He blushed, “That’ll happen regardless, but what I’m trying to say is that I have a problem with the ‘witches’ part.”

Both his parents looked confused. His father, in particular, had one eyebrow raised so high on his forehead that it was nigh impossible to see it under his long hair.

There was a long silence.

“Oh!” cried his mother in exclamation, “I get it! Oh…I get it…” She looked down at the hands in her lap.

“I would like to know what is going on here,” demanded a slightly fraught Lucius at not understanding the current situation, “Narcissa?”

His mother was contemplating what to say next when Draco spoke up, “Father,” Lucius turned to him, “I like—”. He averted his eyes, “I like wizards.”

His father passed out, as was expected. At least he was sitting this time.

His mother checked on his father until she was assured that he hadn’t suffered any great injury, and she looked back at Draco, “Don’t worry about him, Dragon. It’s just a big shock is all, but he loves you as much as I do, and nothing could ever change that.”

Draco hadn’t realized it before, but the erratic beating of his heart slowed to a normal beat, and he let out the breath he was holding in. He retuned the smile his mother gave him.

“Now go to bed, little Dragon. I’ll take care of your daft father,” she said as she took out her wand.

Draco wanted to say more; he had so much left to fix. However, His mother’s affectionate stare said that he should leave so that she could ‘chat’ with his father, and he had other matters to attend to, like writing that future journal Theo had mentioned.

And so, the once-again young Draco gallivanted off to bed to do what all good time-travelers do, according to Theo.


	3. Two Rendez-Vous in the Magical Streets of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the wizard shopping commence.

It’s been a few weeks, Draco has nearly completed his time journal using invisible ink and a basic _colloportus_ as a diversion to any would-be intruders, but honestly, who’d want to read the diary of an eleven-year-old?

He received his letter from Hogwarts to the joy of his mother. Father wanted him to go to Durmstrang to keep away from the ‘bad sort’, but mother said it was too far away which put an end to the argument. His ‘special gift’ from father turned out to be a Comet 260 and a lecture on becoming an upstanding Slytherin quidditch player, but all Draco really wanted right now was for this terribly dull summer to end.

“Are you ready, Dragon,” came his mother from the lawn.

He combed his hair for the 40th time, “I’m coming.”

“Draco, this attitude of tardiness is unacceptable as you are the only heir to the Malfoy line,” patronizingly scoffed his father.

“Yes, yes…can we go now?” Draco dusted off his robes.

“Do you have your coin purse with you, Darling?” his mother inquired.

“Yes,” Draco replied patting said object.

“Do you remember the plan?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded.

His mother gave him a worried glance, “Could you recite it one more time, for me?”

Draco sighed, “Father will buy my books and other supplies, I’ll go to Madam Malkin’s to get my robes fitted, and you’ll peruse the wands at Ollivanders.”

“And?” she looked at him expectantly.

“And we’ll all meet back at Ollivanders once we’re done.”

 She gave him a curt nod and hugged him, “My Dragon’s all grown up.”

His father started to look uncomfortable around all the unprecedented familial affection, “I care for you as well, Draco.” He awkwardly patted him on the head. “Well, no time to waste.”

He apparated away.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It’s our turn.”

She took his hand in hers, and Draco was side-apparated to Diagon Alley. He stumbled trying to get his bearings from all the spinning.

“I’ll see you soon, Dragon,” his mother waved him goodbye.

He was alone at last after all those weeks of surprise check-ins and general parental invasions. It was awful being eleven as a twenty-one-year-old. Well, in a month’s time he’d be at Hogwarts again, away from the piercing gazes of his parents to the scrutinizing supervision of staff: what a joy it was to be a child once more.

Leaving behind his inner reflections, Draco made his way to Madam Malkin’s as was originally intended.

“Hello, dear, going to Hogwarts?” came a squat witch dressed in mauve who Draco presumed was the Madam herself.

“Yes.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, please take the footstool at the end,” she pointed to a shabby piece of wood.

A second witch started on his stitching when the bell above the door rung. For lack of something better to do, Draco eavesdropped.

“Hogwarts, dear?” the Madam called to the boy dressed in threadbare muggle clothes. “Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

The boy marched his way onto the stool next to Draco. Draco stared straight forward. There were only 40 students in each year, so the odds of him knowing this kid were exceptionally high. If he were to be frank though, he only learned the names of those in his house because his social circle primarily consisted of Slytherins. He supposed making friends outside of his current ones wouldn’t drastically affect the timeline, so why not?

“Hello,” he said, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said the boy.

There was a long pause.

What do children say? This was more difficult than he thought it’d be.

“Do you like Diagon Alley?” Draco asked seeing as his conversational partner was in a similar predicament of lacking social skills.

“Yes,” the boy replied curtly.

“Me too,” Draco said slowly. Well, isn’t this riveting? It’s just like one of Binns’ lessons on the Goblin Revolts.

“And magic?” Draco said just to add to whatever dialogue this was.

“Yes,” replied the boy, again.

Draco was becoming fed up with this boy’s nonchalance. “Can you give a response longer than a monosyllable word?” Draco challenged.

The boy looked up in contemplation which is when Draco noticed his glasses as they reflected the ceiling light.

He finally spoke again, “Yes.”

“Oh ha-ha, very clever,” Draco playfully rolled his eyes as the boy sent him a brief smile. “My name’s Draco Malfoy, by the way. Most normal people would introduce themselves at this point, but seeing as your name is likely longer than one word, I don’t think you’d be able to manage it.”

Madam Malkin suddenly barged in on his little chat, if it could even be called that. It was as good as all of those times he talked to himself in the mirror. “That’s you done, my dear,” she said to the boy as he hopped off the stool. He was about to exit the shop entirely without a single goodbye which Draco found to be quite rude.

But the boy in the raggedy old clothes turned around, and that’s when Draco noticed the scar. _No way_ , he thought, _this is not happening to me_. He could only stare in pure horror as the boy said those three magic words, “I’m Harry Potter.”

And he left.

Did Draco really just attempt to befriend his arch-nemesis? _No, it was an imposter!_ Draco assured himself, _Potter’s the type to get is house-elves to do chores for him! Well, that settles it; it definitely wasn’t Potter._

After deceiving himself and paying for his school robes, Draco headed to the best of places: Knockturn Alley. It was dangerous for him to do this alone as he was only a child, without a wand at that, but Draco was willing to take the risk as he needed to purchase something of upmost importance.

The dimly-lit, cramped street gave Draco flashbacks as to why he came here before his sixth year, but he had to do this. He trudged on into Burgin and Burkes.

“If it isn’t the young lad? Does your father have some business with us on this fine day?” questioned Borgin.

“No, I’m here on my own business,” Draco replied with as much courage as he could muster. He looked around at the various blood-stained torture devices that mounted the walls and paled a little.

Borgin raised his eyebrow in confusion when he suddenly gave a belly-bursting chuckle, “Well, I’m not one to pry, so, what are ya looking for?” He waved his hand in the general direction of his catalogue.

“I’d like that cabinet over there.”

Borgin scratched his head, “Looking for furniture are ya? Well little lad, you should look elsewhere.”

Draco huffed, “I know what it does, and I want it.”

Borgin peered into Draco’s eyes, looking for something. Draco stared back unrelentingly for what felt like an hour.

“Fine, it’s yours, half price,” said Borgin spontaneously, “Just ask your dad to do more business with me, alright? He has a lot of magical artefacts that I’d just love to get my hands on.” He looked overly-enthused at the prospect.

Draco handed over his galleons, “Fine.” He then stood around pathetically for a while.

“What is it now, lad?” Borgin asked.

“Could you shrink it too?” Draco asked lamely. “I don’t have a wand,” he gestured to his empty hands.

“You’re more work than your worth,” Borgin lazily drew his wand and shrunk the cabinet to a portable size.

“Have a nice day, lad, and be careful out there,” Borgin called after Draco’s receding form. “Kids these days; they just don’t know how to say farewell.”


	4. Kerfuffles on the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!

It was September 1st. Draco was leaving for Hogwarts, and under normal circumstances, he would be delighted. He was not. No, in fact, today was turning out much worse than he could have possibly conceived.

He hardly caught a wink of sleep the night prior because of the incessant House-Elves rummaging through his closet, looking for decent robes to pack. Some might say it was Draco’s fault for not packing his own trunk, but Draco would point out that he had an army of House-Elves which begged the question, 'Why not use them?' His mother mentioned something about watching his health, so of course there was no bacon for breakfast.

And then there was his father.

After a hearty meal of fruit, eggs, and disappointment, he was jostled into his father’s office for a nice ‘chat’.

“Son, there are only a few things in this world more important than connections,” his father imperiously leaned forward in his overstuffed armchair.

“Like money,” Draco added.

“Yes, like money,” his father finished. “But I have brought you here for an entirely different purpose.”

“To talk about connections,” Draco surmised. This was going to be a snooze.

“Yes,” he said haughtily, “Connections are the foundation of every good Malfoy—”

“And money,” Draco interrupted.

His father gave him a warning glare. “I heard that Harry Potter was going to be in your year, and it would be most advantageous for you to make his acquaintance—”

It was this conversation was it? How did it turn out the first time? Oh, that’s right, he was embarrassingly rejected by Potter, all hopes of ‘friendship’ or ‘amicableness’ were instantly crushed by the deft hand of an eleven-year-old boy with a serious vendetta against him. It wasn’t like he did anything wrong. Actually, he can’t recall anything outside of being an absolute darling while Potter was an evil, scheming hippogriff.

“—And you should befriend the Zabini boy. Remember that anyone who isn’t a pureblood is not—”

Draco never realized how terribly blunt his father was about the whole ‘blood’ thing. He guessed subtility didn’t really work on children.

“—I have spoken to Severus about the quidditch team again, but he stands firm that there are no exceptions—”

He can talk about other things too? Fascinating.

“—Your mother will miss you a great deal,” he started to tear up a little, “You must write me—her at least once every week. Do you understand, Dragon?”

This was unexpectedly touching, “Of course I’ll write.”

They sat in their chairs for a while, entranced by the fire in front of them.

“We should be leaving soon,” came the somber voice of his father.

“It is unacceptable for Malfoys to be overtly tardy,” quipped Draco.

—

It was a half-hour till eleven o’clock when Draco had the sudden revelation that he hated Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

It was all sufficiently unnecessary, too showboaty for Draco’s tastes. Why did they need to take a train? Because of security measures? No, find a quicker mode of transportation that doesn’t require Draco to socialize with a group of mischievous half-wits who find giant tarantulas and a game of tag amusing; they are wizards, aren’t they? To add to the whole chaotic ordeal, the only way to get to the platform was through Muggle London which caused quite the commotion, as anyone could imagine, and the only reason they couldn’t directly apparate onto the platform was because it was practically a zoo out there. Cats littered the floor, brushing up against unsuspecting witches and wizards, owls swooped down from their precarious perches, dropping their ‘special packages’ on whomever they-so-chose (luckily there was active magic to take care of this problem), and the people, there were just too many of them.

Draco was in the middle of his farewells when over the bustling crowd he spotted a head of red hair. Then came another, followed by another, and another…

“The Weasleys,” his father insidiously whispered. Draco agreed.

“We really must be going; the train’s about to head out too,” his father said as he was already making his way out. “We will see you again over the holidays, have a good semester,” he waved good-bye.

His mother scooped him up into one last bone-crushing hug, “I love you, Dragon. Remember to have fun.”

“I love you too, mother, but I must make my escape now.” She nodded in understanding, and he entered the train.

—

“Save me Draco!” cried a sad Goyle who’s wand was stuck up his nose.

“Goyle needs help,” insisted a worried Crabbe.

Pansy curled her hands around Draco’s bicep, “You can save me anytime.”

“Save someone, Draco,” droned a bored Blaise as he checked his nails.

Theo did nothing, as per usual.

He was surrounded by morons, and to think that he called these people his friends.

“ _Accio_ Goyle’s wand,” Draco stated as the snot-covered stick came hurtling towards him.

“You’re my hero!” swooned Goyle as he retrieved his wand from Draco.

Now Goyle, Crabbe, and Pansy fluttered their hideous eyelashes at him.

“That was impressive,” said Blaise in a droll tone. “How did you manage such an advanced charm?” he queried.

Theo watched with feigned disinterest.

“One word,” said Draco as everyone held their breath, “Magic.”

“You’re just one letdown after another, aren’t you, Draco?” came the blasé Blaise.

Draco shrugged.

“My toad!” shouted a round-faced boy who blundered his way into their compartment, “Has anyone seen my toad?!”

No one had a response to this unusual intrusion, except for Blaise, of course.

“Oh…was that what that splatter on the ground was? I thought it was some owl droppings, but I guess I was wrong.”

The boy was in tears before Blaise could even finish and left crying down the train’s hallway.

“That was exceptionally cruel, Blaise,” purred Pansy.

“What’s a toad?” asked Goyle. Crabbe nodded in shared confusion; Theo started to explain.

“Well,” Draco yawned and stretched his limbs, “I’m going to take a short walk around…the train.” He needed to get away from these people, as soon as humanly possible.

“But the candy cart hasn’t even come by,” sniveled Goyle.

“That means Draco wouldn’ get none,” Crabbe helpfully supplied.

Pansy look saddened by the prospect of Draco leaving, and Blaise…just did what Blaise did.

“I think I’ll join you,” said Theo.

“I’ll come too, then,” cheered Pansy.

Crabbe and Goyle stood up to do the same.

“Absolutely not!” Everyone looked crestfallen, except for Blaise. “Somethings have to be done alone,” Draco said intelligently.

Blaise smirked, “I know of a few things that can be done alone.”

The child version of Blaise just made an innuendo. He was leaving, now.

When he stepped into the corridor, a girl with bushy hair and big teeth crashed into him.

“I’m dearly sorry, but have you seen a toad? Or a boy looking for a toad? I believe I lost them both,” said the girl in one breath.

“He went that way,” said Draco pointing, “The boy, that is.”

“Thank you ever so much,” rushed the girl as she ran past him.

Draco proceeded to walk in the opposite direction in the hopes that no one else would talk to him or invade his personal space, but who knows? It seemed like the whole world wanted a piece of him, except for Blaise, that is.

He passed the trolley carrying all the candied sweets and impulsively purchased a Pumpkin Pasty; it would make for an adequate bacon substitute. He continued on his merry way towards the middle of the train, and, if he were to go off of the scenery outside, he’d say that they were almost at Hogwarts.

“Draco?” A boy with glasses called as he slid open a compartment door. “Oh, it is you. Come on in,” the boy gestured to the room’s interior.

It was Potter. He wasn’t going in.

“No, no, I think that I’m perfectly fine out here.” Draco slid past Potter and attempted to flee for the third time that day, but Potter was faster than him and dragged him inside.

“This is Ron,” Harry introduced the red-headed Weasley who looked just as uncomfortable as Draco. “And this is Draco,” Harry smiled at him.

“Hello,” coughed Draco, standing awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you Weas—Ron.”

“Yes…very nice to meet you…Draco.” The two starred at each other.

“Well, go on,” nagged Potter. Neither of them knew what to do. “Shake hands,” Potter enthusiastically nodded.

Just then, the rat that was resting in the Weasel’s lap bit his finger.

“OUCH!” Draco screamed. Potter and the Weasel stared at him in surprise. The rat bastard’s teeth broke through his skin, causing a lot of pain. Malfoys didn’t squander opportunities, though, so once it released his appendage, he ran down the corridor.

“SORRY ABOUT THAT,” he heard the Weasel yell after him.

He ran to the next train cart where he could properly inspect his injury away from any frolicking children. _It’s bleeding too_ , he growled in his mind. He was going to cook a nice rat stew tonight.

“What happened to your finger?” a red-headed teen asked as he knelt in front of Draco.

Was his mind fooling him or was this another Weasley?

“That looks like it hurts,” the teenager took out his wand. “I can heal it,” the Weasley adolescent pretentiously insisted.

Draco retracted his hand from the teenager’s palm. “I believe I can manage on my own,” Draco sneered as he quietly cast an _Episkey_ on his finger, “See, it’s all better.” He proudly displayed his craftmanship.

The teenager raised an eyebrow. “That’s some high-level magic for a first year,” he said as he looked at Draco’s plain black robes, “My name’s Percy Weasley. I’m a prefect for Gryffindor.”

As if Draco couldn’t tell by just glancing at him.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he sneered, holding his head in a way that said, ‘please stop talking to me’. But this ‘Percy’ wasn’t deterred; rather, he looked encouraged.

“A Malfoy? I didn’t know they had a son.”

 _I bet you don’t know a lot of things_ , Draco thought to himself.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

“I should get ready,” Percy rushed to the front of the train, “It was nice meeting you!”

Draco stood in the corridor as people scrambled all around him. They were throwing on school robes and storing their leftover sweets. Amidst the feverish flurry, Draco was left undisturbed which gave him ample time to reflect upon his day. _I’ll sleep in the Slytherin dormitory tonight, and that’s all that matters_.

—

Draco was shivering in the cold night air as he and the other first years were led to the ceremonial boats by the giant oaf Hagrid.

“No more’n four to a boat!” he called over the sea of tiny children.

Draco watched as one by one the small fleet of boats were filled. Crabbe and Goyle took one for themselves which left—

“Draco _~come join us~_ ,” Pansy leered. Blaise and Theo sat in the front row.

Preferring any place that didn’t contain a flirtatious Pansy, Draco hopped into the nearest boat.

“Sorry about Scabbers, again,” came a voice from the dark.

“Who said that?” Draco squinted but was still unable to make out who the figure was.

“That was Ron,” said a boy, “And I’m Harry.”

 _Why do I always run into people I don’t like?_ he wondered. _It’s because I don’t like anyone, isn’t it?_

The three boys sat in silence and were shortly joined by the bushy-haired girl from earlier. The toadless boy took Draco’s seat next to Pansy.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then—FORWARD!”

The boats leaped to life, gliding across the smooth black lake. They approached the warmly-lit Hogwarts. Even at twenty-one Draco found it breathtaking.

The boats docked themselves, and the toadless boy, who turned out to be Neville, had his ‘Trevor’ returned to him.

All of the first years clambered outside of the tall oak doors in anticipation. Hagrid raised his gargantuan fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Draco when he rants about the wizarding world; he has a lot to say.  
> And this chapter is confusing if you try to workout where everyone is in relation to their position on the train. I stopped trying to make sense of it.


	5. "You're a what, Draco?!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is sorted.

The first years trailed behind Professor McGonagall as she gave a generic overview of Hogwarts and being sorted. Draco found it all to be terribly dull, so he purposefully stood at the back of the room McGonagall had left them in, away from the nervous chatter.

“How do they sort us?” wept a freckled boy as he tried to tie his shoes.

A tall girl with short black hair claimed that: “They feed us to dragons.”

The surrounding body of students all gasped and cried in horror. The children hugged one another as if it were their last good-byes. Draco found the sight to be entirely dim-witted.

“It’s a hat,” Draco called. “A _Sorting_ Hat,” he added with sarcastic emphasis.

“A hat?” questioned a girl in utter disbelief, “Do you think us dumb?”

Yes, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

The bushy haired girl piped in, “I think it’s an exam.”

Panic griped the first years again as their imaginations conjured monsters and other school-related bullocks. Draco leaned against the back wall, putting on his ceremonial wizard’s hat when an ice-cold, pearly-white transparent ghost passed through him.

The first years went off screaming at the appearance of twenty or some-odd apparitions flooding the room. Draco shivered.

“Sorry about that, but you shouldn’t lean on walls,” said Nearly Headless Nick to Draco as he continued to argue with the Fat Friar.

McGonagall returned and led them to the Great Hall in a single line, Draco stood at the very end. They all gasped at its enormity and grandness. Draco yawned; he just wanted to go to sleep.

He started to drift off as the Sorting Hat sang its song, and, one by one, the first years were called up to be sorted.

“Boot, Terry,” gallantly read McGonagall from her list.

The hat was placed over his head, and, “RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted.

“Granger, Hermione,” called McGonagall, the bushy haired girl walked up.

 _It was Granger the whole time!_ exclaimed Draco. He should just stop all communication with people he doesn’t recognize because, if he followed the trend here, they’d turn out to be his enemies.

The hat took a few seconds; then, obviously, it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Longbottom, Neville.”

He stumbled and fell as he went to the front, clumsy as ever.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat. Neville appeared slightly downtrodden, but nonetheless, wobbled his way over to the Hufflepuff table.

That didn’t seem right; he was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? Although he did fit Hufflepuff like a glove. Draco stopped paying attention, preferring to stare at the ceiling.

Eventually, through the slog of sorting and other nonsense, McGonagall read his name in what he thought a rather majestic manner, “Malfoy, Draco.”

He swaggered his way to the four-legged stool and regally sat down as McGonagall placed the hat on his head; it fell over his eyes.

 ** _Hmm…time travel, Mr. Malfoy?_** The hat whispered.

 _Pardon?_ Draco was filled with fear. _How does it know?_ he thought.

 ** _I can read your mind,_** said the hat, in his mind.

 _Well, go on…put me in Slytherin already._ Draco just wanted to be in bed.

 ** _Why should I?_** cackled the mischievous hat.

_Because I’ll turn you into a seat cushion if you don’t._

**_That’s rather brave of you._ **

_No, I’d say it was rather cunning of me._

**_And it was courageous of you to go to Knockturn Alley all on your lonesome._ **

_Don’t you dare!_

**_And noble of you to help your friend on the train._ **

_I did that out of social obligation! Now put me in Slytherin, you filthy accessory._

**_I don’t like to be trifled with, Mr. Malfoy, and that’s why you better be—_ **

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Draco toppled off the stool where he now lay stone-still on the hard floor. The hall erupted in laughter.

“Mr. Malfoy!” cried McGonagall as she rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”

He got up, woozy, and walked over to the Slytherin table.

“Gryffindor is over there, Mr. Malfoy,” she intoned, pushing him towards the opposite side of the room.

Draco wanted to cry. His life was over. There was no point in going on.

Granger smiled at him and patted the seat next to her, so that’s why he chose to sit at the end of the table.

She looked dismayed, but he didn’t care. What was he going to tell father? His father would find out of his sorting as soon as he could because he was on the Board of Governors, and then it would be all over for him. He should compose his will while he was still living.

Everyone continued on as normal, being sorted and all. Draco didn’t want to be in the hall anymore, especially because Potter sat next to him.

“That was a big fall, are you all right?” Potter grinned at him, “I’m glad we both got Gryffindor, do you think Ron will too?”

“He’s a Weasley, of course he will.” Draco stood up and walked over to one of the prefects that wasn’t Percy.

“Excuse me, Ms. Pwefect, but I’m not feeling well. That big tumble I took has me all nauseous, and I need to lie down,” he attempted to lay the cute on thick, so he batted his eyelashes.

“Can it wait till’ after dinner?” she tried to say nicely, but her face said that she didn’t want to leave.

“If you don’t take me, I will vomit on you and your dinner,” Draco deadpanned.

“That kid has fangs,” came one of the prefect’s friends.

“Why don’t you ask Percy, he’d be glad to help,” she gave him a forced smile and nodded in Percy’s direction. Percy pompously nodded in recognition.

Draco wouldn’t let that happen. “Are you a prefect or are you not? Perhaps I should get my father to look into this matter,” he glared at her.

Her friend helpfully told her who Draco’s father was.

She looked at her friends, then at Draco, then back at her friends, “I suppose I’ll make it back in time, but Dumbledore won’t be happy.”

Draco couldn’t care less about Dumbledore’s feelings. “Are we going or not?” he said impatiently as he crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

“Oh, all right, let’s get this over with.” She stood up and led him out of the Great Hall.

“I’m taking you to the Gryffindor dormitory where I’ll—” she droned on.

Blah, blah, blah…Draco didn’t want to hear it.

“I should probably tell you the rules. Don’t go into the Forbidden Forest or go swimming in the lake or boating on the lake as you will likely die—”

They walked up some stairs.

“—And watch out for Peeves. He’s a rather nasty little poltergeist.”

They passed by a painting of wizards gambling.

“Here we are.” They stood outside a portrait of a fat lady dressed in pink silk.

“Password?” sang the lady in an operatic voice.

“Caput Draconis,” chimed the prefect. “You should probably remember that for later,” she looked at him as the portrait swung open.

He had never been in the Gryffindor common room before, and he was glad to say that he never wanted to come here again. It was terrible, from the overstuffed chairs to the hideous wall tapestries and the all-around ‘homey’ vibe it gave off. Plus, there was too much red. The Weasleys’ would blend right in with the furnishings.

“The boys’ dormitories are on the left up those stairs, first years are the top floor,” she said, heading out the portrait hole, “I think you can manage that much on your own.”

And there he was, in the Gryffindor common room, as a Gryffindor. Draco ran to the dorm the prefect specified and collapsed onto a bed by a window. If he was going to stay here, he was going to have a view.

He thought of all the things he’d have to do tomorrow, like write a letter to his father, as his eyelids grew heavy, and he was slowly embraced by sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone familiar with the original 40, I made Wayne Hopkins a Slytherin, to keep the balance.


	6. I Went Back in Time and All I Got Was Some Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco disses everyone, unintentionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I took so long to update, but my school life, in all its chaotic glory, is coming to a close. That means I have to prepare for my AP exams and pretend like I know what I'm doing.

It was a gorgeous Friday morning. The sun streamed into the Great Hall, giving a sort of halo effect to the breakfast laid out before them. The students chattered amongst themselves with vicious ferocity, making plans for the first weekend of school. Even the wildlife had settled to a low murmur in the Forbidden Forest. Everything was perfect.

And Draco wasn’t angry. No, he was more mature than that…but if he snapped a little every time someone attempted to talk to him, then it was their fault for thinking that he’d endure their pitiful excuse of a conversation. And if he occasionally looked to be on the verge of tears, it was just some dust that got in his eye. He was fine. Even better, he was brilliant.

So, he sat at the Gryff—at the table, staring into his goblet of pumpkin juice, not thinking about how all of his plots to be transferred to Slytherin had been foiled by Dumbledore.

“The Sorting Hat is never wrong, my boy,” the conniving old cretin had said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m afraid that reassigning houses is unprecedented and against the rules. Would you like another toffy?”

Draco had begrudgingly accepted the candy as consolation for the damages dealt to him. If it just so happened that he threw said candy at a certain hat sitting on a shelf behind the headmaster… then it would reflect poorly on his character, but he would have to go to great lengths to restrain himself from the temptation.

The worst part wasn’t that he was better off not going back in time in the first place, or that his parents became so fraught over his sorting that every letter they sent him was littered in tear-stains, undecipherable scribbles, and grammatically incorrect drivel, but Draco realized, with growing horror, that he would have to live in that cesspool of a dormitory with red-headed barbarians, Granger, and the ‘Chosen One’ for the next seven years of his life.

He had survived till Friday, much to his consternation, but he did so with as little social interaction as possible. Potter wanted to sit by him in Charms, did he? Well, why should he when there’s a perfectly good seat going to waste on the opposite side of the room? Granger thinks that studying in the library would be a good use of time? He was twenty-one. If he couldn’t handle the first-year material with his eyes blindfolded, he’d make for a very poor wizard. The only person Draco found even slightly tolerable was the Weasel, oddly enough. It was probably the cautious glances he gave Draco, or the way that he would avoid him at all costs, even going to the extreme of leaving whatever room Draco was currently occupying. After the first few days, everyone had given up on him. Draco doesn’t question it; he merely appreciates the effect his presence has on others.

All that said, he was actually looking forward to today. Double potions with Slytherin. Though his friends have been ignoring him, and he hasn’t talked to Snape since his birthday, he had high hopes that some good old Gryffindor bashing would raise his spirits.

“Why does that first-year look so…deliriously happy?”, George whispered conspiratorially to Fred.

Fred gave Draco a quick once-over. “You think he’s the one who locked Filch in Ms. Pince’s closet?”

George looked at Fred for a bit and continued to ponder while he pensively glanced at his toast, “Oh, Fred! We both know that that was _you_.” He munched on his toast.

Fred looked at George, “Me? I thought that was you!”

The twins turned to point at one another and said in unison, _“If you didn’t do it, then who did?”_

There was a tense pause where it seemed the whole world had fallen into a babble and only the two tricksters were aware of it.

“There is a master prankster at work here, and their scheming is bigger than you and I combined,” Fred stated darkly into his bowl of cereal.

“We just have to prank bigger to beat the bigger prank—that’s how math works,” George confidently declared.

“Could you two stop your plotting?”, came a distraught Oliver Wood. “It’s not even the end of the 1st week, and you already have McGonagall bent over that incident with the toilet seats.”

The pair gave each other a mischievous smirk. _“Aye, Aye Captain!”_

—

Draco was in tears. He had to cover his mouth with his hand just to keep himself from bursting out laughing.

“Mr. Malfoy, would you care to explain what you find so humorous to the rest of the class? It must be utterly hilarious based on the way you’re conducting yourself,” drawled Snape.

Draco had to take a few moments to compose himself. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it? It’s even better than I remembered.”

Snape inhaled deeply through his hooked nose, “Mr. Malfoy, it would seem that your new behavior is in line with…your house.” Snape had the gall to feign disdain.

Potter quirked his eyebrow. Draco took another stifling breath of air and wiped the remnants of tears from his cheeks. “I forgot how much of a treasure you are,” Draco gazed at Snape with thinly-veiled nostalgia. “All these years and I never realized how essential you were to the cause.”

Snape didn’t say anything, nor did anyone else. “What cause, Draco?”, Snape tsked.

“The cause of supporting Slytherin, sir. Your sole efforts alone have won that house the cup for seven years in a row.”

The Slytherins cackled and hissed; even Snape appeared slightly pleased with this compliment. “I see that you still hold green and silver in your heart despite your current attire.”

The whole class had eyes on Draco. Some were astonished at the cordiality immitted from Snape while others were pissed that Draco was a house traitor.

“5 points from Gryffindor for blatant lack of house spirit,” Snape dutifully proclaimed, “Now, back to the basic properties of monkshood—"

The Gryffindors glared daggers at him, but Draco proudly sneered at them all. Granger, his partner, kicked him under the desk. “What is wrong with you!”, she angrily whispered. “Why are you helping them?!”

“I’ll have you know, Granger, that the ‘them’ you are referring to are my friends.”

She gave him a hurt look like this was all his fault, but it wasn’t. She was just being a dramatic eleven-year-old.

—

Class was over and Draco was gathering up his supplies when Theo sullenly ambled over.

“You won’t like what I’m about to say.” Theo watched as Draco put a toffy in his bag. “So, I’d like to apologize beforehand. I’m sorry.”

Draco looked down at his notes from today’s lecture. The odd thing about being a time-traveler was that once he relearned something in this timeline, he’d forget it from his initial timeline. “What are you on about, Theo? Apologies?”

Theo looked at Draco, really looked at him. “How are you holding up—with the Gryffindors and all…”

Draco’s thoughts of time travel were thoroughly interrupted. “You saw it today yourself. They’re a bunch of prats, the lot of them. Now quit stalling, why did you apologize to me?”

“It’s about everybody,” Theo sighed.

“Everybody?”

“Greg, Vincent, Pansy, Blaise…they don’t—well, they can’t…”

“I’m not Dumbledore, Theo, I can’t waste all bloody day on speaking to people. Merlin forbid.”

“I wish you would take this more seriously, but you were never the type.” Theo stared directly into Draco’s eyes; it was slightly off-putting. “Draco, they don’t want to be associated with you anymore.”

Draco’s face scrunched up, “Why not?”

“Because you’re a Gryffin—”

“BECAUSE I’M A WHAT!”, Draco exclaimed. Snape gave him a dirty glare from behind his work space.

“Their parents said that they couldn’t speak to you anymore…I tried to tell them that they should make up their own minds about the matter, but you know how difficult that can be…”

Draco was about ready to walk right up to those cowards and give them a stern talking to when Theo put his hand on his shoulder, “I know that you’re angry Draco, but just with the way things are, you knew that this was bound to happen eventually.” Theo removed his hand and gave Draco a quasi-encouraging smile, “I’ll still be your friend in spite of all of this.”

That’s exactly what Draco needed right now because being shunned by both Slytherin and, dare he think it, _Gryffindor_ wasn’t enough, so the universe added Theo on top as a little coup de grâce. He was fine. Everything. Was. Fine.


	7. Call Me Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has another fireside chat.

Draco may have had no one to converse with except for Severus or… _Theo_ , but he was faring better than last week. As a minor victory, all of Gryffindor had jointly decided to ignore him, so now he could enjoy his time in peace and quiet.

He wrapped his green, woolen blanket around him tighter as he peered over his copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_ written by his favorite DADA teacher.

It was getting pretty late, Draco noticed as he pulled open the curtains around his bed. The moonlight illuminating the cobblestone floor was his first indication, and the dorm filled with the soft snores of sleeping children was his second.

He grabbed his wand off of the nightstand and hastily put on his winter cloak—the castle was rather chilly in the evening—and he headed off towards the door to do his nightly searches for the sister vanishing cabinet. It wasn’t in the Room of Requirement, so either it was in Hogwarts or it was not. He liked to believe the former, but nothing these days are where they should be.

“Where do you think you’re going, Draco?” heaved a boy from a dark corner of the common room.

“Oh, you know…around…” Draco squinted, trying to make out who had intercepted him.

The shadowed figure took a step out, and flames from the fire danced around the frames of his metallic glasses.

Potter gave him an inquiring look, “Around?”

Draco fiddled with the silver fastenings on his cloak, “Listen, Potter, I know it’s your thing to snoop and investigate and unjustly persecute people, but I’m merely taking a midnight stroll to get my nerves down—so, run off to bed now.” Draco gave him a dismissive hand gesture.

Potter relentlessly stared at him, who knew that an eleven-year-old could make Draco so uncomfortable. “Who are you?”

 _What kind of half-arsed interrogation is this?_ Draco rolled his eyes. “You know who I am, and I’m leaving.” Draco angrily plodded over to the portrait hole, but Potter snatched his wrist before he could even open it.

“I’ll follow you,” Potter breathed, and when Draco gave him a bland look, he added, “I’ll get us both in trouble.”

Well, his school record was never going to be clean, so he might as well start somewhere. _“Petrificus—"_.

Potter easily took Draco’s wand due to their close proximity.

“Really, Potter? Your solution is to go about the _muggle_ way of doing things?” Draco growled as he lunged for Potter.

But Potter was as slippery as the merpeople, and he tauntingly dangled Draco’s wand from one of the plush chairs he was standing on.

“Now you’re behaving like a muggle _and_ a child,” Draco sneered from the ground, crossing his arms.

Potter gave him a gleeful smirk, “I’ll give this back to you after you answer my questions.”

“And if I refuse?” Draco quipped.

Potter gave an air of faux-pensiveness. “I suppose you won’t be getting your wand back.” He swiveled Draco’s wand around for good measure.

Of course, Draco could just use wandless magic to get his wand back, but then Potter would still be there, bothering him.

“Only if you accept the conditions that I answer questions that _I_ want to, and that you go to bed after.”

Potter frowned a little, “I don’t think you’re really in a position to bargain here, Draco.”

Well, Wasn’t that awfully Slytherin of Potter? Draco nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll just go back to bed.” He began to walk towards the boys’ dorms.

“WAIT—okay, I agree!”

Draco subdued his mischievous grin before turning around and plopping himself into one of the hideous chairs next to Potter. “Well, Potter, why don’t you have a seat?”

Potter sat down and stared into the fire. Draco waited a little, then a little more… then some more— “Potter, you are wasting my time.”

Potter didn’t respond.

“Seriously, what could possibly be going on in that pea-brained head of yours?”

Potter looked at him with those unsettlingly green eyes, “Why do you call me Potter?”

“Because you _are_ Potter.” Was this an identity crisis, did Potter need a mediwitch?

“I call you Draco, but you call me Potter,” Potter stated as if this was a matter of significance.

“And? It’s your name, you do know that, right?” Draco was growing concerned for the mental state of young Potter. It seemed that they were both going mad.

“It’s my _last_ name,” Potter exasperatedly said as if Draco was dull.

“Yes, yes, every witch and wizard in England knows your name,” Draco rolled his eyes.

Potter had to take a deep breath. “Friends call each other by their first names.”

Draco had a terrible flashback to something about a handshake, Potter, and a rat, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t recall it very clearly. “You think that we’re friends?” Draco scoffed more out of shock than anger.

“Well, I did, before you went all cranky.”

“Cranky! If anyone is cranky, it’s you,” Draco pouted.

“Listen, Draco, that didn’t come out like I meant it to. You’ve just been acting strange since school started, is all,” Potter said with the earnestness of a Hufflepuff.

Draco wasn’t really placated, but he was curious. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Because you were the first person in my whole life who was my age that spoke to me nicely.” Potter’s checks pinked a little and he directed his eyes to the fire again, “And I know that you’re not a bad person.”

“Pfff.” This was just like when he testified at Draco’s trial. Potter never changes, does he? “How can you be sure?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

 _Yet_ , Draco shivered at his unconscious thought. “What about the Potion’s Incident? How can you explain _that_ one away?”

“I know that your family wanted you to be sorted into Slytherin, and you were probably disappointed to be put in Gryffindor… Everyone is shunning you because they see you as a house traitor, and I just thought that I’d—”

“You’d what? Take pity on me? I’m not a charity chase, Potter,” Draco spit.

“I just know what it’s like… to feel like everyone hates you or disregards you.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief, “Wait… how do you know about my family?”

Potter squirmed a little in discomfort, “Well, Ron told me some things…”

“The Weasel,” Draco hissed darkly.

“Would you stop calling him that? He practically lives in total fear of you, you know?”

“It’s the natural order of things. What did the Weas—ley tell you?”

Potter eyed his feet and wiggled his toes, “He said that your dad worked for Voldemort—”. Draco gasped. “And that he got away with it. But he was also certain that you’d be in Slytherin and a total git, so… I’m not sure.”

Draco paused for a moment, considering how much he wanted to say. “It’s true.”

One of the burning logs fell from the pile as sparks glided around the air before settling onto an ashy heap.

Potter turned to him for what must have been the 10th time, “Which part?”

“About my…father,” Draco glibly sighed. Potter sat ramrod still. “I know that he did things—things that only happen in nightmares—but he’s my…” Draco felt tears welling up behind his eyes that surprised even him. He whipped them away with his cloak. “He loves me, and I love him…unconditionally, you understand?”

They listened to the crackling of the fire.

Potter thought over Draco’s admission. “I don’t know what it’s like to be loved like that,” Potter spoke as if to the wind.

Draco was surprised. Hadn’t Potter grown up in the lap of luxury, loved and cherished by everyone he ever met? “What about your relatives?”

Potter chuckled, “I don’t think they like me very much.”

“It’s probably just tough love. I bet that they care about you deep down.”

Potter gave him a watery smile, “I don’t consider being forced to live in a cupboard for 10 years as tough love.”

“What!?” Draco jumped in surprise. “A cupboard!” he shouted. He was not prepared for that.

Potter shot him a warning glare. “Yes, a cupboard,” Potter whispered harshly, “And if you don’t shut up then Percy will put us both in a cupboard.”

“You’re absolutely right, Potter! I can’t bare spending this much time with you as is,” Draco quietly huffed and unceremoniously sat back down.

If Potter was slightly hurt by the jab, he swiftly shrugged it off, “Call me Harry.”

“I refuse. Potter.”

“Why?” Potter obnoxiously twiddled with Draco’s wand.

“Because you’re you, and I’m a Malfoy. I have standards.” He briefly looked around the common room, “Or I used to.”

“Well, I don’t see why we can’t.”

“Potter, we’re supposed to be enemies, rivals. We are destined to hate one another,” Draco attempted to explain with gradually more fervent hand gestures.

Potter just looked confused. “What are you even talking about?”

“Never mind that bullocks. We just can’t be friends, okay?”

Potter gave him the ‘Are you really that blunt?’ face. “So friends don’t sit by the fire and divulge their deepest secrets, then?”

Draco nodded, “Yes, that sounds right, especially when one of them is being threatened by the other.”

“But you said that you’d only answer questions you wanted to.”

“I recall no such thing.”

Potter looked up to the ceiling, as if pleading with Merlin. “Just say it once.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Potter.”

Potter frowned. “I’ll only give you your wand back if you say my name.” Potter tightened his grip on the wand.

“That wasn’t one of our conditions,” Draco tsked.

“So you do remember?” Potter supplied with a minute amount of impatience as he got to his feet.

Draco stood up too and crossed his arms, “You’ve already ruined my night, and now you’re ruining the morning too.”

The rays of dawn lay lightly upon the furniture.

“Just say it.” Draco sneered at him. “Please?” Potter pleaded with the viciousness of a puffleskin.

Draco wished that he had stayed in bed.

“Fine. But just this once, Harry.”

Potter broke out into a broad smile and did a little jig. Draco smiled too, but only because Potter was being a prat. “Was that so hard?” Potter quipped as he handed Draco the wand.

“Yes, actually, it was.” Draco examined his wand to make sure that Potter didn’t damage it.

“One day you’ll call me Harry again, and on that day, you’ll be my friend,” Potter lightly added like he hadn’t just made a grand claim.

“Yeah right, Potter. Maybe when bacon flies.” Potter raised an eyebrow in bewilderment.

Just then, one of the Weasley crowd made an appearance. “Nice to see first years taking the initiative to study early in the semester,” snobbishly called the bumbling Percy. “As I am a prefect, I could help you in your academic pursuits.” He proudly displayed his badge. “Why are you wearing a cloak, Draco?”

Draco and Potter traded knowing looks. Potter was the first to speak up, “I think we better get dressed for the school day.” He nudged Draco with his elbow. “Isn’t that right, Draco.” He said a little too loudly.

“Yes,” Draco replied with the same volume and stiltedness displayed by Potter, “I think it would be most appropriate that we take our leave, now.”

They both rushed up the stairs, almost crashing into one another.

“I’ll be here,” Percy said to the empty room, “If you need me.”


	8. Broomstick Schenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tried.

Draco’s mission to find the other vanishing cabinet had been temporarily thwarted by some pressing news.

Draco gapped at Potter, “When did you say it was, again?”

“This afternoon, with Slytherin,” Potter nodded in the direction of the notice board.

Draco quickly strided over to the portrait hole, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find a minio—Theo, to do…something,” He looked back at Potter with a scrunched-up face, “I’ll be back.”

“Oh, well, bye then,” waved Potter. Potter turned to face Weasley who was cowering in the corner, “See Ron, he’s not someone to be afraid of.”

Weasley straightened his stance, “I don’t know Harry; I feel like we’re supposed to be enemies.”

“Huh.” Potter briefly contemplated. “You know, he said something similar to me this morning.”

—

Draco burst into the Great Hall, immediately running over to the Slytherin table.

“Theo!” he called, nearly out of breath. Theo was surrounded by some sixth years—he never really fit in with his own age.

Theo gazed at him, and merrily said, “Hello, Draco! Come down for some lunch, have ya?”

“I need you to create a distraction during our Flying lesson.” Draco pushed one of the students out of the way to sit next to Theo. “I’ll pay you 10 galleons,” he whispered, gesturing to his coin purse under the table.

Theo frowned at Draco, “I don’t want your money.”

“What? You’re a Slytherin, Theo, you _live_ to extort people out of their money.” Draco blinked.

Theo took a deep breath, “Well, I was going to do it for nothing because you’re my friend, but I guess I want something in return…”

“Anything that’s reasonable,” added Draco as he stuffed an apple into his bag.

“I want your copy of _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ ,” Theo seriously replied.

“You like romance novels all of a sudden?” Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“My parents banned me from reading it, and I’ve seen you carrying it around from time to time, so I wanted to know what it’s about.”

“Fine by me,” he said as he retrieved said book from his bag. “Now, on to more important business.”

—

It was a cool afternoon where the grass lazily swayed in the swirling winds, and the sun was just hot enough to warm your skin without burning it. Draco walked down to the flat field on the edge of the Forbidden Forest with the rest of the Gryffindors.

He would get to fly today, and, if everything went according to plan, he would be the new Gryffindor Seeker. He knows that he’ll have to play Slytherin from time to time, but playing some Quidditch is better than none.

The first thing Madam Hooch did when she arrived was holler, “What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

 _Ah,_ Draco fondly thought _, So many memories of children falling off their brooms._

Weasley cried, pointing at Draco, “Look at his face, Harry! He’s gone mad!”

“Oh, come off it, Ron,” Potter replied, “He’s just excited to fly like the rest of us!”

Granger gave a sour glance at her broomstick, but Thomas gave Potter a thumbs up.

“Stick your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “And say ‘Up!’”

Everyone did so with a variety of success. Him and Potter were the only two to get their brooms in their hands while Granger’s rolled around like a rabid dog, and Weasley’s levitated above his head.

Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms and launch into the air, and Draco was becoming anxious waiting for the moment when Theo would…

“OUCH!” screamed Theo in agony, clutching his hand.

Madam Hooch rushed over to him, face as white as a ghost. “Snake bite, a nasty one, by the look of it,” she muttered. “Come on boy—it’s alright.”

She turned to the rest of the class and gave some spiel about not flying while she hurried Theo to the hospital wing.

“Let the fun begin,” said Draco as he took out an apple.

“What are _you_ going to do with an apple, Draco?” snobbishly came Pansy.

“He’s going to eat it!” supplied Greg helpfully.

Both Slytherins and Gryffindors alike turned questioning gazes at Draco.

“I’m going to play a game of catch,” he quipped throwing the apple to Potter.

“In other words, you just want to show-off,” Zabini stated lazily.

Draco gave a toothy grin, “You have a good aim, Potter?”

Potter stared at the apple, “Are you sure about this?”

Draco launched into the air, “Of course I’m sure, now throw the bloody apple, Potter.”

 _“No!”_ shouted Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move—you’ll get us all into trouble.”

Potter took off on his broom, entirely disregarding Granger’s existence. “It’ll be easier if we’re both flying,” cheekily grinned Potter.

This wasn’t in the plan, but Draco would take what he could get.

“All right, Potter. Now, if you could throw it right in front of that particular window…”

And an epic game of catch ensued. It was pure bliss to be doing this again, wind in the hair, and the feeling of exhilaration derived from diving over and over again. Amazingly enough, Potter was keeping up with him despite the fact that, to Draco’s current knowledge, Potter hadn’t been on a broom before.

Some of the braver students stumbled their way into the game too, like Weasley and Thomas, but most stayed firmly to the ground, watching in awe.

It became perfectly evident that no one could match the pace of Potter and Draco. One would throw and the other would dash like a pair of finely-tuned cogs.

And the last catch was so graceful, Draco begrudgingly admitted. Weasley had accidentally dropped the apple because he was a clumsy git, but Potter, the mad lad, dove straight for it, nearly crashing into the ground.

After that, they collectively landed, completely out of breath.

“You know, you’re not half bad, Malfoy,” wheezed Weasley.

Thomas breathily added, “Yeah, not half-bad.”

Potter just smiled up from where he was lying on the ground.

“DRACO MALFOY!”

Professor McGonagall ran towards them. Potter scrambled off the ground, brushing grass off his robes.

Granger stuck her tongue out at him.

McGonagall furiously glared at Draco, “ _Never_ —in all my time at Hogwarts—”

The sun reflected off of McGonagall’s glasses into Draco’s eyes, making him squint, “—how _dare_ you—might have broken a neck—”

“We all joined in, Professor.”

“Be quiet, Mr. Potter.”

“But—”

“That’s _enough_ , Mr. Weasley. Malfoy, Potter, follow me.”

Potter looked at Draco with pure horror. Draco shrugged.

They silently followed McGonagall to the Charms classroom. Was this how Potter became a Seeker in his timeline? If so, it was rather bizarre.

Professor McGonagall peered her head in, “Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

And a handsome fifth year emerged from the classroom and curiously glanced at him and Potter.

“Follow me,” said Professor McGonagall as they dutifully marched into an empty classroom.

“Potter, Malfoy, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I’ve found you two Seeker candidates.”

Draco spluttered. Wood’s smile split with delight. That was also the moment when Draco stopped listening. Why couldn’t McGonagall just give him the position already? Was he not exceptional enough for her?

Him and Potter got off without being punished, so long as they tried-out for the Quidditch team.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Potter said dreamily at dinner.

Weasley eagerly nodded in agreement.

The whole of Gryffindor had heard of Draco’s exploits and they gave him looks of approval, the past had been forgiven, apparently. The Weasley twins were particularly impressed, and Percy, as well as Granger, appeared mildly defeated.

But Draco was irritated at Potter, so a little scheming was in order.

“Hey, Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“You still want to know what I do when I leave at night?” Granger peered over her book.

Potter was vibrating from excitement, “Yes! I’ve wanted to know for so long!”

“What’s going on?” queried Weasley.

Potter explained to him, and they both turned to Draco with barely-concealed curiosity.

“Meet me in the trophy room at midnight.” Draco tapped the pads of his fingers together.

“Why can’t we all go together?” rationally inquired Weasley.

“Because I have to set it up,” Draco replied calmly.

Potter and Weasley exchanged a look, and Granger furrowed her brow. “We’ll be there!” they exclaimed in unison.

Draco laughed and laughed until his chest ached. This was going to be good.


	9. Bed and Broom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had to add in some more canon stuff.

Draco was having a nice dream about catching a snitch when Potter and Weasley quietly burst through the door.

 _“DRACO!”_ they both scream whispered into his ear.

Draco batted his hand at them and turned to the other side of the bed.

“You won’t believe what happened tonight!” Potter said under his breath, jumping onto Draco’s bed and taking a seat. Weasley followed suit.

“If you don’t let me get my beauty sleep, I’ll hex your ears off,” Draco muttered as he blindly searched for his wand.

But, of course, Potter stole it, again.

“Ron, Hermione, and I were going to meet you in the Trophy Room when we ran into Filch and Mrs. Norris, so we ran, and then Peeves started yelling for Filch to find us, so we ran again, but this time we ran into a room to hide and there was a HUGE three-headed dog and it was sleeping, so we ran back to the common room, and Hermione said it was guarding a trapdoor!” Potter said in one breath.

Draco finally sat up, “Sounds like Hogwarts. Can we all go back to bed now?” He rubbed his eyes.

“Wait a moment!” said a puzzled Weasley. “Weren’t we supposed to meet _you_ in the Trophy Room?”

It seemed that the Weasel could actually think.

“Yeah, where were you, Draco?” Potter leaned towards him conspiratorially.

“Well, you see, I was heading to the Trophy Room to set-up the surprise,” Draco was snickering from his ingenious scheme, “When I heard Filch coming. I ran back to the dorm to warn you, but you were already gone, so I went to bed.”

“Why didn’t you go out to try and warn us? Why didn’t we cross paths?” innocently pondered the Weasel.

Draco’s head hurt; the Weasel was really testing his nerves. “If you got caught, then me coming to look for you would cost us even more House Points. And we didn’t see each other because I took a secret passage to get back.”

They both looked satisfied with his explanation. Fooling children was easy.

“You know some secret passages?” inquired Potter.

Most of them were common knowledge among the student body, especially to those who’ve lived at Hogwarts for seven years. “Doesn’t everybody?”

Weasley added, “Me and Harry—”

“It’s ‘Harry and I’ you troll,” Draco corrected. Potter had a mouth-splitting grin on his face.

“Well, _Harry and I_ have found some,” Weasley continued.

“What’s wrong with you, Potter? Pixie eat your homework?”

“You said it,” spoke Potter.

“Said what?” asked Weasley.

It suddenly clicked for Draco. “Hey, that doesn’t count! I was correcting your Neanderthal of a friend here for his atrocious grammar!” Draco spluttered.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” asked the perpetually confused Weasley.

“Oh, but it does count, doesn’t it?” added Potter with a mischievous smirk.

“Can someone just tell me what’s happening!?” squeaked Weasley.

“It does not, and you’re the one who made up that bollocks statement in the first place! I never agreed to anything.”

Weasley started, “Come on, guys, just—”

Draco gave him a glare that could kill a Basilisk.

“I think that’s settled then,” Potter said cockily, “You’re my friend now.”

Draco took his wand from Potter’s hand and proceeded to kick both of the interlopers off of his bed. He yanked his curtains shut.

“A little dramatic, isn’t he?” quipped Weasley. “What was that all about?”

Potter yawned, “I’ll explain it in the morning. Goodnight Ron.”

“Goodnight Harry.”

Draco heard them both crawl into bed, and, before he drifted off, he thought he heard someone say, “Goodnight Draco.”

—

Draco received his usual chocolates from his mother, and breakfast wasn’t too awful this morning, Draco supposed. However, he was instantly cheered by the site of a not suspiciously broom-shaped package that landed in front of him and Potter.

Potter read the letter on it, “It’s a Nimbus Two Thousand!”

Weasley was enthralled.

Oh, it was for Potter, then? Of course, the school would allow its Golden Boy to break the rules.

Potter smiled at him, “It’s for the both of us!”

Draco chewed on his croissant. Now he had to share? With Potter? The world was a truly dreadful place.

“We’re going to practice down at the Quidditch field with Oliver Wood at 7 o’clock,” added Potter.

Well, it was better than nothing, he thought. Draco continued to eat breakfast in silence, but if the corner of his mouth quirked up or he chuckled under his breath at Weasley’s and Harr—he meant Potter’s—conversation, he would still deny liking them to anyone who asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Halloween which should be fun.


End file.
